Spin the Bottle, Roll the Dice
Spin the Bottle, Roll the Dice
Present Sense №16 | An Adventure with Destiny
Something a bit different this week.
I typically offer 7 sensory recommendations at the end of each essay. But today, the senses are woven into the story –– an adventure with plenty to SEE, HEAR, SMELL, TASTE, TOUCH, BALANCE, and ENVISION.
Present Sense usually goes out to paid subscribers, but in the spirit of breaking the rules, this one is available to everyone. Thanks to paid subscribers for sustaining this publication.
If the below images get cut off, you may prefer to read in your browser: sevensenses.substack.com
In Joy,
Sabrina
PS: There will be no Present Sense next week as I’ll be preparing my Seasonal Travel Guide, which will be published on the Spring Equinox.
Roll the dice: 1 + 4 = 5
Spin the bottle: North
Lay the compass: 330 degrees
We now have to drive 5 miles North-West at 330 degrees.
These are the rules we made up for our day of adventure, our way of celebrating a decade of love. Originally, I had hoped we’d be toasting the occasion on a romantic vacation in Greece. But my fantasy didn’t match our current financial reality, so we decided instead to go on a local escapade.
The idea came to me after reading Brooklyn journalist
‘s essay ‘I Played NYC Adventure Roulette.’ She received a $100 bill from a paid subscriber and when she took a poll from her readers, they suggested she spend it on an adventure. So, she took a cab to a random NYC neighborhood, and let herself be guided by fate and people she met along the way.We decided to create our own version. Since Los Angeles is laid out very differently than New York – a wide-spread sprawl, rather than a hyper dense stackup – we took our car (instead of a cab) to explore various LA neighborhoods. To determine our destination, we’d use a pair of dice and a bottle.
The roll of the dice determined the number of miles, and the spin of the bottle guided our direction. Since the bottle isn’t very precise, we used a compass (both an analog and a digital one) for a more specific target. Once our car odometer would reach the number of miles and the compass was at the exact degree, we’d park and walk around that area.
Stop 1: Five miles, North-West, 330 degrees
Our first roll takes us to the Hollywood Hills, a neighborhood composed of luxury houses and empty streets. We waved at a few construction guys, and my partner attempted (unsuccessfully) a conversation with someone in front of their house. Nonetheless, we treated the area like real explorers, taking a close look at each home, examining every growing plant, and admiring the view as if it was our very first sight.
Stop 2: Eleven miles, North East, 40 degrees
For our next expedition, we drove over the canyon and into the Valley, passing by endless blooming Evergreen Pear trees. We were getting hungry but all we could see were fast-food chains. Luckily, just as our odometer reached 11 miles, we came across an intersection with a variety of food malls. We parked and were delighted to find a plethora of options: sushi, kebab, dumplings, etc. We decided to walk into an Armenian bakery to try their baked goods.
We shared a khachapuri –– a small puff pastry filled with cheese –– a traditional Georgian dish, which is also popular in Armenia. It was mouth-wateringly delicious and I could have eaten 10 of them. But it was our amuse-bouche, as we wanted to continue our tasting quest.
The area seemed to be predominantly Armenian, so we decided to cross the street to check out an Armenian deli. One of my all-time favorite things to do is to explore food markets from other cultures. I always discover products I’ve never tasted, with ingredient lists in foreign languages. My partner tried to tell the store owner and workers about our adventure, but they gravely nodded and didn’t seem to understand a word. We bought some Armenian candies, pasta, and fruit preserves.
For lunch, we ended up in a small Thai restaurant with a decor that was reminiscent of Greece meets Cape Cod. The place was busy with regular customers eating in and picking up. We went for their lunch special of pad Thai and spicy eggplant along with a Thai iced tea. Our friendly waitress let us know that the restaurant had been around for 30 years but had changed owners over the decades. She’d been there for a year.
John noticed a Thai market around the corner, so we decided we’d go there next. In the span of a block, we could travel from Armenia to Thailand.
It was fascinating to walk up and down the aisles, discovering an array of products unfamiliar to us: Licorice Melon Seeds, Durian Essence and Ube Flavoring, Pickled Banana Blossoms, Sweet Amber Herbal Jelly, amongst other culinary wonders.
Stop 3: Seven miles, North East, 47 degrees
We kept heading further and further North, deeper into the Valley. At first John pulled into an industrial site, with tons of bricks stacked everywhere. “Here we are!” he announced cheerfully, though there was hardly anything around to get excited about. “Really?” I asked doubtfully. He checked the odometer – which read 5 miles – and realized he had gotten it wrong. We still had two more miles to go.
When we reached 7 miles and 47 degrees, we pulled into a residential street. We parked under a tree and walked to the end of the street. We were now in Sun Valley – a mix of suburbia meets horse ranch. Most of the houses had stables or enclosures for horse training.
On our walk back to the car, we noticed a man in front of his gate. “How are you doing?” my partner asked. To which, the man replied: “Just another day in Paradise!”
That’s how we met Ray. We asked him about the area and he told us many “horse people” live there. His wife, Becky, is one of them. She later joined our conversation and pointed to one of her two horses, peeking his head from the enclosure in their backyard. Ray worked as a pilot and is now retired. They told us about all their favorite local hikes, and we discussed various trails in Sedona, Mount Zion and Bryce Canyon. When we told them about our adventure with destiny, they invited us to spin our bottle and roll the dice on their front lawn.
We landed a double six, and the bottle pointed North West at 335 degrees. We asked Ray and Becky if they knew anything in that direction. “The Hideaway bar is just about 12 miles north of here. It’s a great place, you should check it out.” We noted their recommendation, took a photo with them, and headed on our way.
Stop 3 ½: Intermission at 10.3 miles
We drove up the mountain and ended up on a dead end path. We hadn’t yet reached our 12 miles, so we decided to turn around and park next to a sprawling green hill. We walked around and noticed the plaques on the ground: we were in a cemetery, within the non-denominational section.
There was an impressive white building, which looked like a historic site or museum. Since our curiosity was leading our day, we walked in to explore further. We were greeted by a very tall man. “How can I help you?” he warmly asked. We let him know we were driving around and asked about the building. We were inside the chapel. “You’re welcome to visit our residents, but they’re not very talkative… except for Halloween and Dia de Los Muertos!” he jovially added.
His name was Mo, and he was the funeral director. As an LA native, he was enchanted to hear about our adventure and couldn’t believe that it had brought us there. He told us about the history of the cemetery, and the various funeral rituals him and his colleagues have observed over the years. He shared how some cultures like to mourn in a contemplative silence, while others prefer a festive and colorful celebration. Some have to bury their deceased within 24 hours, while others have to stay with the body for days. To our surprise, and laughter, we also learned about a poker game gone comically wrong during a funeral ritual. Mo was full of fascinating tales, which were only interrupted once – by the mailwoman who delivered a package of ashes.
When we asked to take a photo of him, Mo offered his “serious funeral director” pose, followed by his silly version. Who knew our spirits could be so uplifted in a funeral home?
Stop 4: Twelve miles, North West, 335 degrees
We drove back down until we reached 12 miles. As fate would have it, as soon as our odometer changed to 12, we arrived at the Hideaway Bar, which Ray and Becky had recommended.
Off the main road, hidden down a slope, the most classic saloon style bar awaited us. As we walked in, as if on cue, a man greeted us. He was wearing overalls, seated on a stool, leaning against the wall, with 5 empty Guinness cans lined in front of him. No bartender or other customers in sight. He introduced himself, with a slight accent, as Robert.
We learned that Robert is from Prague and spends the winters in LA every year. The Hideaway Bar is his home away from home, where he can be found with a Guinness in hand every Wednesday through Sunday (the bar is closed on Monday and Tuesday).
A few minutes after meeting Robert, a woman in her late sixties or seventies walked out the kitchen: Cynthia, the bartender/cook/ owner. A New Mexico native who grew up in Texas, she had moved to LA in her 20’s. She told us the bar was 106 years old and she’d been running it for a few decades. She was responsible for cooking the daily menu, making the liquor orders and pouring the drinks. Upon Robert’s recommendation, my partner decided to try her famous bowl of chili and confirmed it was delicious.
When we asked Cynthia how she ended up there, she shrugged her shoulders and simply responded: “Life.” But it was clear she was fond of the place and its regular customers. She said they were respectful and none of them “caused trouble.” Even though the clientele had evolved over the years – from cowboys to Hell’s Angels to neighborhood folks – the place had somehow retained its original feel. It had a cozy rustic charm, with its small TV screen always playing old Westerns, vintage pistols hanging on the wall, and the classic drunk joke plaques as decoration. Still today, cowboys stopped by for a beer, tying their horses out front, living relics of the Wild Wild West.
We stepped out into the courtyard with Robert to have a smoke. He asked us to open Spotify and look up “Justin Lavash Trio.” An album entitled “E Train” popped on my screen and we recognized Robert’s face amongst the trio on the cover. He told us he was the drummer on that record, and reminisced about his touring days with various famous musicians, walking us down memory lane.
After a beer, I was due for a restroom trip and pleased to find it decorated with vintage memorabilia. As I held my best “chair pose,” my eyes caught the detail of a poster. It was Lucille Ball selling soda. Not just any soda: Royal Crown Cola – the same exact bottle we’d been using to spin our direction all day.
My partner doesn’t remember where he acquired the 1936 vintage bottle, but he always loved the design, with its pyramids and notable font. For as long as I’ve known him, it’s been displayed on a shelf by his desk. When our adventure called for a bottle to spin, he didn’t hesitate to grab the Royal Crown Cola.
Slightly in disbelief, I walked back to the bar to tell him. He yelped and jumped off his stool, staring at the bathroom door. “On the wall to the left, behind the door!” I shouted as he ran towards it.
Our whole day had been guided by serendipity, but this was the cherry on top of our destiny cake.
Final Stop: Home
We drove home in ecstatic reverence, as if the world had been transformed into a magical stage.
Clearly, there was no need to travel thousands of miles to have an epic adventure. All that was required was a change of perspective: choosing spontaneity over planning, and adopting a fresh outlook on the seemingly mundane.
“You know, everyday could be like this,” I told my partner as we laid in bed that night.
If we released expectations and approached each day with a spirit of openness and curiosity, wouldn’t our lives be filled with awe and wonder?
Even without a dice or a bottle, we can believe that each action we take and every person we meet is meant to be. The suburban couple, the bar regular, the funeral director, become imbued with a mysterious quality – sparks that illuminate our path and usher us along our destiny.
Again, I loved this one so much! I admire how talented you are in creating magic with your perspective, curation, and storytelling.
What a great day! Green Walnut Preserves! A funeral director! Pickled banana blossoms! And I love that you used a compass.